


My Heart, Your Haysian War Drum

by PastelWonder



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: A GingerRose Love Story, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Arkanian Culture, Conflicted love-sprung General, Did I mention camp?, Dream Sex, F/M, Fraught with romantic drama and camp, HEA, Haysian Culture, Like, Long sensual kisses, Love in the midst of war, Making Love, Mutual Masturbation, Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Sex, Phone Sex, Post TLJ, Rough Sex, So much camp, Tenderness, Valley girl mechanic Rose, tros? don't know her
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:02:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26212348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelWonder/pseuds/PastelWonder
Summary: "Alpha. New Log."The General loathes this regime. Ever since the onset of his insomnia, he has been instructed to make these recordings.Dream journals,of all the ludicrous, feminine nonsense."Be as specific as you can,"the good doctor said,"The more detailed, the better."Did the General look like the sort of man to describe turgid sexual actsaloud?
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Rose Tico
Comments: 35
Kudos: 62





	1. Roaming the stars, and the wild;

**Author's Note:**

>   
>    
> 

"Alpha. New log."

The scene from his viewport is always the same. Dark, far-reaching space and the lambent pinpricks of stars. He stands before them at parade rest, hands folded meticulously behind his back.

It is difficult to begin.

"- last night, I- experienced semi-lucid dreams regarding dissident number ten-nineteen. The dreams were, yet _again_ , of an-"

He hesitates. Blinks slowly. _Humiliation, how divine a mistress you are._

The stars twinkle mischievously back.

"-of an erotic nature," he takes an academic tone as the smallest and ring finger of his left hand _tick_. "I have confirmed with the on-ship physician this is not a side effect of the prescribed sedative."

He elucidates with a heightened sense of shame, "Sleep continues to evade. And when it does arrive, I find-"

The stars glimmer patiently. _Go on..._

"I find I dream of her." His voice is brooding. Murmurous.

_But why?_

The stars do not answer.

He loathes this exercise. This regime. Since the onset of his insomnia - which the onboard doctor dismissed summarily as _psychosomatic_ , a diagnosis the General emphatically does _not_ accept - he has been instructed to make these recordings. _Dream journals,_ of all the ludicrous, feminine nonsense. He should have the quack for malpractice.

 _"Be as specific as you can,"_ the good doctor said, _"The more detailed, the better."_

Did the General look like the sort of man to describe turgid sexual acts _aloud_?

He would type it, of course, but the doctor insisted doing so would render the treatment ineffective. It should be spoken. Recorded.

 _Played back_.

Adding the layers of additional security coding to the General’s private mainframe was - in and of itself - a day long task.

The General does not need these recordings. The things he does to Dissident Ten-nineteen – the things he allows her to do to him - are branded forever in his mind. _Seared_ into his body.

He awakes aroused.

 _Tick-tick-tick_ , go the fingers.

 _Mm hm. Go on,_ coax the stars.

"Alpha. Close log." He turns away from the viewport.

He dreads bedding down for the night.

"Alpha. New log."

He begins early the next morning. While his tongue is still thick and graceless from sleep and his brain is lax. In an armchair before the viewport. A glass of citrus juice held by the fingertips of one long, pale hand. His left hand drapes freely over the chair arm.

 _Tick tick, tick tick,_ the smallest and ring finger tap.

 _Well?_ smile the stars.

"I dreamt of Dissident Ten-nineteen twice last night in a six-hour rest cycle. In the first dream... she was... nude. On my desk."

_Tickticktick_

"She... is- was- in the dream, beautiful." He shifts.

 _Damnit_.

He is already hard.

It should be impossible. He is a man approaching forty at maximum landing speed and has serviced himself in the fresher not twenty minutes before to a… _gratuitous_ conclusion.

He effects an intellectual tone. "Her body is- was- adequate-"

_lush_

"her skin tone brown-"

_golden, soft. Warm, in my mouth_

"I gave her pleasure-"

_I lapped at her young sex until she bowed and whimpered in ecstasy. She was soft, supple flesh and a thick, silk pile of night black hair. When I parted her lips with my thumbs, she was pink. Soused_

"until at which time I engaged her in intercourse."

_I drove into her tight, sopping little clutch as the room was swallowed in the sounds of my harsh breathing and her mewlings. Her thighs parted wide for me, she possessed me in her softness. I remember the way she smelled_

"Copulation was of a vigorous nature-"

_I took her so hard the desk beneath her bare body rattled. Her breasts and belly rippled. With each surging return I took from her and she gave to me - everything. We breathed in tandem, our bodies one in_

"I woke before my own completion."

_She came keening on my cock._

He pauses. Takes a calming sip from his glass.

"I am not a man disposed to wonton carnality-" _No observations, please_ , the doctor had asked.

Abruptly, he stops again.

 _It's okay._ The stars twinkle at him benignly. _Take your time._

"The second dream was," he grasps, "less... lucid. More... _interpretive_ , if you will."

This dream disturbs him even more than the others. While far less _gratuitous_ , it is more-

 _Vulnerable_.

"I saw in very few colors. Her skin tone. The color of her eyes and hair. And red. There was sort of... covering of red silk. A backdrop behind her. Like a draping. It rippled as if- as if moved by our breath. She..." his throat constricts minutely. He takes another draft from his glass.

The citrus stings his palate unpleasantly. His throat bobs.

"We made love. I held her in my lap..."

For several beats of his heart, which in this moment he perceives too clearly beneath his breast, he says nothing else. His eyes stares unblinkingly into space unfurling endless before him until his eyes. Unfocused. Unguarded.

When was the last time he felt a woman's breath on his neck?

"Alpha. Strike the last two lines.”

He stands and drains his glass. _Shields on._

"End log."

"Alpha. Begin log."

He paces, breathing erratic. Fingers ticking manically behind his back.

"Dissident Ten-nineteen has attempted contact-"

He stops. Glances out at the stars.

 _Well,_ they whisper like eager children, _what did she say?_

Oh, how his father would rue him if he could see the General now.

"Last night, I dreamt she was calling out to me- from a clifftop. On Hays Minor. The skies were vast."

His head aches. He has stopped taking his sedatives. They muddled him.

And he fears sleep.

"She wore a red dress the color of the Arkanian flag. I saw her. She was alone on the greatest peak. Her hands were cupped around her mouth. She was calling out for me-”

 _Armitage._ Not General, or Hux. _Armitage_.

“I went to her."

He rubs his forehead with gloved fingers and thumb. "I took her. On the mountain peak. The moons were full and loomed above us. It was... animal. _Pagan_ ," he says with a forced note of distaste.

Their bodies moved in tandem to the tantric rhythms of Otomokian war drums.

"I woke before my own completion. To the sound of an inbound call to my personal comms."

 _"Hello? Is- um... ... is this, Arm- General Hux?"_ The sound of a young woman's taut, breathless voice had tripped his alarms.

It was late, oh-two-hundred. He had only just fallen asleep after hours of studying the ceiling. Mind whirling. Body tense.

"This is he," he answered. Curtly, yet cordial. His voice sleep-roughed.

 _"Oh,"_ her voice crackled over the comms. _"Were you- were you sleeping? Shoot. I- didn't look at the standard hour. Sorry."_

She did sound genuinely contrite.

And desperately self-conscious.

"Who is this?" he asked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes with forefinger and thumb.

 _"It's, um... i-it's Rose,"_ her name came warbling, like a startled breath, through the comm.

Thunder cracked and lightening struck his spine.

He sat erect.

_"You- um- you call me, uh, Dissident one-oh-one-nine-"_

"Yes," he cut in sharply. Eyes keen and alert. "I know who you are, Miss Tico."

 _"Yeah,"_ another bowing, breathless sound, _"Um- you've been- dreaming about me?"_

 _This must be a nightmare,_ he thought, as his gut fell far, far away.

She took his silence as acquiescence and trembled on.

_"Um. Anyway. Well. I- I've sort of, been hacking you? For like, a while... Just for like, war-stuff. Basically."_

His heart beat out of time with reality itself.

"I beg your pardon," he hissed. Fist clenched and twisting in the dark bedding.

 _"Yeah. You- like your coding is really good and everything- it was totally hard and took me a super long time. You're really talented,"_ her voice pitched to a sort of soft-squealing lilt before settling down. _"You- um, anyway you added like, these logs and stuff and I was just- I thought because the security protocols were so intense, you know, that it would be like- war stuff.”_

He strangled. Choking on pounding, suffocating disbelief.

 _"So yeah..."_ she trailed.

The silence strained between them so long he heard it creak.

There was a crackle on her end of the line.

_Gather yourself._

"Miss Tico-" he began sharply.

 _"Oh, you can call me Rose._ Miss Tico _is like, my mom, you know? Oh- and I was gonna ask you- you're single, right? Your file says you're divorced but I know sometimes that gets complicated and- I don't wanna be **that girl** -"_

He cut off her psychotic ramblings with, "That is enough. Miss Tico, you have sailed deep into _perilous_ waters. I do not know _how_ you came into position of my personal frequency, or gained access to my private logs-" his hands wrath-tremored. He spoke snarling through his teeth, "But if you think you can stand there and _mock me_ -"

 _"Oh no, I'm not standing. I'm kind of, lying down. In bed, actually. I just-"_ her voice quivered slightly. _"I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to- see, this is why I didn't call before. You- I'm sorry. I mean, not about the hacking because hi, it's a war but- I thought-"_

This- this was a fever dream. This was a nightmare. He was having an aneurism. He had said aneurism and was in shock-

"You thought _what_ ," he growled, throwing back the covers. Prepared to stand, to dress, to hunt this frivolous jeering girl-child down and-

_"I dream about you, too."_

_I dream about you, too. I dream about you, too. I dreamaboutyoutooIdreamaboutyoutoo-_

"Miss Tico," he graveled dangerously, standing in the middle of his bedroom, hand fisted furiously in his bed-rumpled hair. "You are doomed. Do you understand me? I will not rest, I will not _cease_ , until I have flushed you out. There is no where for you to hide, girl. _Do you understand?_ "

_"... do you promise?"_

Roaring, he threw his comm.


	2. And laughing at her girlish wiles;

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so, so much for all of your precious, gorgeousable, encouraging comments on my recent posts. I apologize that I have not gotten back to you yet; I've been on a long creative sprint : ) 
> 
> I do so, so much appreciate your readership. Please accept some tawdry phone porn as a placeholder until we are able to connect <3

He tries to push the girl from his thoughts.

She is mocking him, clearly. All his life, he has been the brunt of such female torments. As a younger man, it rankled him viciously.

To this day, among his many professional and personal disappointments, he considers his short-lived marriage his greatest defeat.

Every hour he is not championing the First Order or mucking up the astonishing messes of Kylo Ren, he spends rooting her out of his systems

She is... clever. Irritatingly so. He finds he is irritable _ad maximum_ these days.

No doubt she has shared his private... recordings with the whole of the Resistance Base. He is once again a laughing stock. Unappreciated. Underutilized.

_Maligned._

He is seething in resentment when she has the unmitigated _gall_ to contact him again.

"Miss Tico," he answers sharply. _Arkanian_. "We have not learned our lesson, I see."

At the datapad he set beside him for this express purpose, he begins the trace.

 _"Yeah. I kinda got like- I don't know- mixed signals? I mean, I could totally be wrong because you're like-"_ there it is again, that breathlessness in her voice which makes his gut tight, _"a lot older than me and really handsome-"_

Now he is positive she is tooling with him.

"What do you hope to gain from this interaction, Miss Tico?" his voice academic. Cold. "What is a _favorable scenario_ for you?"

 _"Oh,"_ she sounds genuinely taken aback by that.

 _Ah ha,_ he thinks.

 _"I guess, um- I guess-"_ an audible swallow.

 _Cornered,_ he glances at the tracing program running swiftly by his side, _with nowhere to hide._

 _"Sorry, I'm not- I'm not really,_ experienced _, I guess-"_

"Mm, I could have guessed," smiling like a serpent, he watches as the long stream of binary coding her locations begins to decrypt. "And yet you seek to parlay with the initiated-"

 _"I wanna be.”_ Why, why is she so breathless speaking about _war_ , for the First Fathers' sakes? _"I guess- okay- Okay. My most favorable outcome, would be, maybe... the one on the desk?"_

It takes a parsec for him to process her meaning.

Then the smirk slides off his face.

 _"-um, or maybe the shower dream? I've never, um- like-"_ her mouth presses against the receiver, _"you know, sucked cock before... but the way you described it in your log, I mean... I kinda wanna try-"_

_Ah. So this is what cardiac arrest feels like._

He is so hard, so _achingly_ hard. His hand move as if on a mind of their own.

"You do realize," his voice is softly threatening as he palms himself, "what you are doing is tantamount to suicide."

 _"Yeah,"_ she whispers back.

He grips himself through his slacks.

 _"It's just-"_ her voice is whimpering, breathy. Tremulous. She is aroused, and she sounds as if she is about to cry.

It is the most... _tantalizing_ amalgam in the Galaxy.

_"-I'm sorry, this is so stupid. Obviously you, um- obviously you aren't really into me, like- in real life. It was dreams and- I'm so stupid-"_

His chest aches. For what reason, he does not dare examine.

_"Probably you date like, really pretty girls who are like- I don't know, **Jakkuvian** or whatever. I mean, no wants a Otomokian girl because whatever-"_

"You doubt you are beautiful?" the words slip out of his mouth before they are a thought.

Murmuring.

_Soft._

A sniffle.

"Miss Tico," _No, Armitage, do not do this. Do not. Do not. You are an officer of the First Order and a Son of Arkanis. You are a sentient, intelligent, educated man-_ "Do you know what I hold in my hand?"

 _"A datapad,"_ she snips, warbling and petulant. _"I can see you're tracing me. Jerk."_

He chuckles, despite himself. "You think you are so clever, my girl. So _achingly_ clever... How much backchatter do you think you'll be able to manage with my cock down your pretty throat?”

A rasping little gasp.

"My dear, I could not fashion a more beautiful girl from my imagination for all the stars and all the worlds," he has taken on a deep, sensual, paternal timber.

A tremulous whimper. Then- _"You’re a shit liar. And mean-"_

"I never lie."

With an audible snick of his zipper, he draws out his cock.

It is thick, pulsing and weeping. Hot and veined in his palm.

The air fills with the scent of his own musk.

"Lying is for children and for men who lack the conviction to carry through on their word," he spits loudly a wad of froth into his hand, "When I take you next time we meet, you will _feel_ my word is my bond-"

A long, choked silence, and then a soft-squeaking, _"Oh."_

"Oh indeed, child," he strokes himself, wending the sleeve of his fist slowly. The pleasure is… _immense_. "Did you know that day in my hanger, that I wanted you from that moment on. Could you see it in my eyes, Miss Tico? Could you feel it in my touch? Could you taste it, as you left your little love-mark-"

 _"Um,"_ she whimpers.

"I wanted to take you, to keep you-" he is whispering sensuously. Lips close to the comm so that she feels his words as they crawl down her spine. Ground and buzz in her navel, "I wanted to make you my little pet. To kiss. To _fuck_. To make love to. To lavish on-"

He closes his eyes and _revels_ in the sheer hedonism of his tight-stroking fist and her soft-moaning, _"Oh-okay-"_

His voice is all husk and Arkanian masculinity as he asks, "Have you had a lover before?"

 _"You,"_ she whispers. Breath snaring. Releasing in shuddering, sensual gasps, _"-just you, when I'm dreaming, or- when I- touch myself..."_

"Are you touching your little cunny now, my angel?" who _is_ this man in his armchair?

 _"Ye-yeah..."_ he pictures her biting her lip, arching on her ragtag bunk surrounded by filth and squalor.

It is wrong, she should be fed, she should be gleaming. Spread out on his dark sheets and glinting like a pearl. Wallowing in the lavish pleasure only he has the talent and strength to provide.

"And is my little girl wet?" he asks, teasing his cockhead with his thumb.

 _"So wet, Papa..."_ she mewls. Then embarrassed, ashamed of herself, huffs, _"sorry-"_

How can he speak, when every cell is on _fire._

_"Sorry that was- that was gross, I'm sor-"_

"Nonsense," he tuts, cherishingly stern. "Papa loves your wet little cunt."

 _"Okay-okay-"_ she whimpers, crying a little higher, breathes shallowing out. _"Okay… okay…"_

"My poor girl," he murmurs. Eyes closed. Picturing her. "All alone in a bunk by herself. Only her pad and the vermin to keep her company. Fingers in her little pussy at night. Are you quiet when you fuck yourself, or can they hear the squelching, your comrades? Do they hear it when you whimper my name?"

_"Do you- uhn- do you talk in your sleep, **Armitage?** Do you- hu-uhn- do you say my fucking name?"_

His bass rumbles, "Yours is only name on my lips from dusk til dawn, _Rose_.”

Her cries pitch - he sees her, in his mind's eye, bowing off the bed.

"That's it," he coaxes, "a little harder- yes, faster. Ah-ah, don't slow down-"

_"Feels too good-"_

"Yes, well that's what you deserve, isn't it? To have your tight little rebel pussy fucked until you're begging me to stop-"

 _"...fuck... you..."_ she breathes as he paces faster, faster against his edge he wants to drive off of.

"Don't worry, my dear," her backchat melts to whimpering and then soft, smothered keening. With a hand or an arm or a pillow over her mouth as he snarls, "someday very soon I shall find you asleep in your bed and I will put you to right-"

 _"Fucking kriffing stars-"_ she whines, panting like she's drowning.

"Say my name," he growls as his balls beat and his cock throbs and there is a wrenching, insistent _lurch_ in his gut.

Shakily, she breathes, _"You say mine..."_

He moans, jerks, _erupts._ "Rose-"

_"Fuck, Armitage-"_

It feels like hours before he climbs down from the stars.

When his eyes do finally slit open, his immaculate uniform is covered in long, gleaming ropes of his come.

"Gracious," he chuffs.

She laughs- giggles, really. A yawning, sleepy, kittenish sound. _"I'm really into you."_

"I gathered," he aims for wry, misses, and lands on-

 _Soft_.

 _"I- um, I blocked your trace,"_ she whispers. She does not want to let him go, and he does not want her. _"I mean, I rerouted it. To like, somewhere abandoned. I won't be there-"_

"If I send flowers to you there, will you receive them?" his timber is deep. Reverent. Vulnerable. What is he doing?

 _Falling in love_.

 _"Flowers?"_ the sweet warble of her voice strums his heart.

"I am an old fashioned Arkanian man," he is relaxed in his chair. "We begin our courtships with a gesture of love."

 _"But you did,"_ she whispers. _"You gave me my necklace back."_

Something tugs at a corner of his lips. "So I did."

_"It's late, I have to go to sleep, to get up early. My boyfriend's a jerk and he kills everybody and it's rude and he gets up at oh-five which is super rude because some of us like to sleep-"_

"What if I do not kill before oh-ten?" he graciously extends.

_"What if instead of cutting up a bunch of flowers, you don't kill anybody tomorrow?"_

"Done," he ascents.

_"Kay. Call you tomorrow?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are delighted by this story, click the Kudos button and leave a comment down below!
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	3. I spoke to her of power and pride,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
> 

_"I want to kiss you-"_

His cock makes slick sounds as he fists himself. Knuckles bulging. Tendons straining thickly between blue veins. Creases between long, folded fingers gleaming with the oil and precum which seeps through. He groans, chokes harder on his pleasure. Forces himself to slow down.

His heart pounds, like the distant, rhythmic batter of shells.

"Where?" he asks. Voice smooth and dulcet. Breath _rough_.

Hers catches prettily. He lives for these moments, when he can catch his little girl off-guard. An increasing challenge. She is agile, adaptive.

A clever little fox.

Her pussy makes lush, succulent sounds as she pumps. _"I- everywhere. Everywhere, Armitage. You're so fucking beautiful- uhn!"_

Her words, her _sounds_ , bewitch him. He lies on his bed above the covers, uniform coat and medals lain aside. In his dark dress shirt with sleeves rolled back over his bulging forearms. Belt unclipped, fly open. He does not want to be a general in this moment. He wants to be a man, touching himself to the woman he-

"Poor visual memory, I see," he huffs wryly, too jaded to indulge himself for even a moment in her sentiment. Sweet though it may be. The tightening in his gut when she called him, _beautiful_ was... involuntary. Coincidental.

He knows what he is, and what he is not.

"Disconcerting in a mechanical engineer." His taunts have the desired effect.

 _"B-bitch,"_ she whines, _"fuck you- there's nothing- **fuck** \- there's nothing wr-wrong with my- eyes-"_

"Such language," he chides. A melting, sensuous threats. "You know how I punish little girls for their filthy mouths."

 _"Shit!"_ she keens.

"Faster," he purrs, relishing in the squelch. Imagining two little fingers fucking fast and crooked through thick, slick, dark silk lips swollen with love. Soused up to their palm in her juices. Like a ripe, wet little fruit ready for him to _pluck_ -

He wants to fill her. He wants to pin her down beneath her and make her take him to the brim. He wants to watch his thick, pale seed slip out of her tremoring, abused little opening. He wants to smear himself over her belly and thighs.

His orgasm edges up to the surface as outside the fly of his slacks his heavy, ruddy sac flushes deeper and draws up.

"I want to come inside you," he tells her. Whispering. Eyes closed. Hand shielding them from the light tremoring. Stroking himself faster. _Savagely_. As he would if he was about to finish in her. She pounds in his blood. "I want to fill you, Rose- _gods_ -"

He can hear she is still fucking herself on her fingers. Quick and sloppy and erratic. He imagines her beautiful digits are pruned, stringing her pretty essence between them as they spread. Young, wet pussy. Begging to be filled-

 _"C-come in me, Papa,"_ she breaths. Tremulous. Still with a tinge of shame he finds oh-so-sweet. Eagerly anticipating the day she moans it loudly beneath him, _revels_ in his mantle and what it gives to her, and the delicious crawl to there. He wants to _love_ her- _"Puh-please. Pah...pa- I- I wanna feel you come-"_

He growls in his throat.

 _"Big, mean Arkanian..."_ her voice takes on a fluttering, taunting edge. She is shaking - her teeth chatter lightly. He has been pleasuring her for hours with his voice and with his tender directions and filthy, cherishing words. She is exhausted, poor flower, yet unconquered. Wickedly, she pants, _"you wanna come in my tight little pussy? I want you to... **Papa** -"_

His hand stutters. He hisses through his teeth, feels the first surging, swelling _jerk_ of his fat, veined length in his grip and succumbs to a full-bodied lurch as he spurts. He _snarls_.

He hears through the beautiful white static his girl giggle softly, breathless and genuine.

_"You sound like a bantha when you come."_

Through his buzzing, fissuring pleasure haze, that drags a short laugh.

 _"You made me so messy,"_ her chiding is innocent sounding. Babyish. Drawing out more spasms of rich pleasure and she does things to him no other can. _"I came everywhere. It's all over my thighs and my ass and the bedsheet- oh, it's soaked. It's on my t-shirt even, at the hem. There's so much wet everywhere. Armitaaage..."_ he savors her whine.

 _"Seriously!"_ she huffs, _"We're like, running out of water over here. I mean... I guess I could wash it in like, a stream or something..."_

"Come to me," he murmurs instantly, unable to bear the thought of his love on some vicious, deserted planet rationing drinking water to survive, "I will bathe you in oceans. I'll give you everything, Rose-"

Another huffed, unguarded laugh. _"You are so psychotically intense-"_

"Yes." _I am serious, is what I am._

They have spoken by comms like this every night for half a cycle. In his caste, on Arkanis, they would already be betrothed.

_"I want to see you. But I'm scared..."_

Where he is mopping himself with the dark, soft terry washcloth he keeps on his nightstand now for this express purpose, he pauses.

Something painful pinches his chest.

"You fear me?" his murmur is smoke and dark.

_"Well... yeah. A little."_

The last pleasant, muted burrs in his belly from his orgasm wash away. "I see."

 _"You did try to kill me that one time."_ Her accusation is not caustic or glib. It is soft.

He can feel his plates of armor hardening nonetheless. "You stood against me."

 _"I don't want to."_ And just like that, she disarms him again.

How many times he has wondered at this girl-child who slips through his defenses. And why he allows it.

It is folly, he knows. And yet...

"You knew the man I am when you called me." It is not his intention to be harsh. But realistic.

_"Do you know the man you are?"_

He swallows. The lights in his room are low - only the uplit sconces on either side of his bed are dimmed on. Yet he feels he must take cover. _But from what?_

 _"I know your wife was Haysian. I know people mocked you a lot for that,"_ her voice tremors with tender emotion.

His chest sear painfully. "Ah. I see you have done your research."

 _"Yeah."_ A breathy pause, as if she is gathering her courage. _"Is that why you gave my necklace back?”_

Genuinely, he had not considered that.

"Perhaps, in part." He shifts, tucking himself neatly back into his slacks. She seems determined to see this painful little thread of conversation to its conclusion. "Mostly, I saw a beautiful young girl at my feet - intelligent, deviant - a lionhearted little creature-"

A startled, warbling laugh.

"And I admired her."

 _"Why did you leave her?"_ the question is timid, childishly accusatory and yet full of anxiety.

"Your rebel ship rammed my flagship and you fled me, as I recall."

_"Literally not even a little accurate-"_

He smirks.

_"And I wasn't asking about me."_

"I realized," he presses his fingertips delicately into the lids of his eyes. The images are bleeding together at the edges. The woman and her tragedy he loved years ago and the one he wants now. He does not wish to speak of it. His greatest loss. "I did not leave Rebecca. She was unhappy in our marriage. So I let her go."

 _But that's not the whole truth, is it, Armitage,_ the stars without his viewport gently chide.

 _"Do you miss her?"_ more tremoring, heart-stung words.

He sees her - _Becca_ , his Becca - so clearly against the dark of his closed eyes. Walking in her gardens. Sitting. Reading. Feeding fruits and seeds by hand to her birds. Wearing a pale dress at the piano and playing. Singing a sweet, mournful song. She was glorious, so beautiful. Dark-shining skin and liquid eyes. Full lips and long dark hair which spoke whispers against his skin as they made love.

He was a selfish man with her. Cloistering and overbearing. Strangling in the fear she would leave. Their origin was as tragic as it was unusual, and he doubted her devotion.

In the end, he made manifest all his fears.

 _"Why do you make me_ hate _you, Armitage?"_ was the last thing she said before she left.

He had forgotten those details these last several blessed weeks. Drenched in the dawn of possibility. The blush of new beginnings. A cruel, tender farce. Rose has reminded him why this is impossible.

It has nothing to do with the war.

"For many years, I did," he answers finally, after the silence grows tense and long-drawn. "But I see now, I am not a man designed for marriage. I am my work. My allegiances. My vision. That is where I must devote myself."

 _"Well that's a total load of shaak shit,"_ she sounds angry. Wounded.

His heart aches. He calls her name, feather-soft. "Rose-"

 _"Don't-"_ she warbles, _"please don't screw this up-"_

"My angel," he whispers, "a fish and a bird may fall in love. But where shall they make their nest?"

 _"I'll float,"_ she whispers back. Wet and trembling. _"You can come up to the surface and kiss me. I want to be with you, Armitage-"_

"Yet you fear the thought of meeting me-"

 _"I'm afraid you'll kill my friends!"_ She is crying now, from grief and from frustration. He has sensed this building in her from the moment they began. She is a passionate young woman. Emotional. Unfettered.

 _Pure_.

What is on her heart she says without reserve.

He can only admire her for that.

"My dove. I cannot acquiesce to the whims of unbridled optimism and childish ideology for love. It would be a disservice to this Galaxy. She has languished beneath poor leadership for long enough."

 _"Then help us!"_ she shouts, still shuddering with her tears. He can picture her perfectly, bolt upright in her meager bunk, pantyless, in a t-shirt, thighs slick with love. Gorgeous dark eyes wet and furious.

A vision, to his heart.

 _"Stop saying you care about the Galaxy when all the First Order does is rape and pillage its worlds. You're not_ helping her, _you're destroying her. If you really cared you'd give up all the money- and and the titles- and the **shaak shit** , and come_ help _-_

 _“People all over this Galaxy_ respect _you. I hear it, all the time,"_ her pleas are softly-croaking. Desperate not to fall on unwilling ears, _"You're brilliant - you're honest. People know they can trust you._ An elite soldier and an incredible mind, _that's what **Organa** called you. And you should hear the stuff she says about her own son-"_

That does earn a rueful smirk.

_"If you turn, the whole Galaxy will. I know it-"_

"I admire your faith," his murmur is wry, "however misplaced it may be."

_"Armitage, please-"_

"Is this why you called me?" Disillusion. An ugly, unbridled emotion. Followed by deep, deep shame.

 _"Puh-lease. Fuck you. Fuck you for even saying that to me-"_ she is breathless, furious. _"I'm not a whore like your precious ex-wife."_

The words land like a blow.

"Ah," he says coldly, awash in icy rage. "So you _did_ do your research."

The connection cuts.

Alone in the room she shares with Kaydel on base, Rose throws her comm from her bunk. It hits the opposite wall of grey cinder across the short distance and shatters. The shrapnel scatters.

On the edge of her bed, Rose puts her face in her hands and sobs so hard she coughs.

_How could you say something so ugly like that to him? How could you call her that?_

_Because I'm a stupid lousy fucking loser idiot-_

_And because it's true,_ a voice whispers. Catty and petty and cruel.

Of course Rose looked her up.

She expected to see an Arkanian _princess_. Some Rey-looking girl with perfect white skin and curly, angel-blonde hair. With big blue eyes and a teeny, tiny waist. Instead, the girl looking back at Rose from Armitage's arm in the holos was Haysian. An Otomok girl, through and through. Darker than Rose even, with thick black hair to her waist and dark tilted eyes and a beautiful, round face.

It was the talk of the Galaxy ten years ago, when Rose was just a kid kicking around rocks. _Young, prominent Arkanian Admiral takes courtesan as wife-_

It took Rose half her rest-day to piece together the story. Her fingers shook over the datapad as she typed.

The girl was taken from Hayes and sold as a pleasure slave when she was twelve. To some sick, glimmering brothel on Canto Byte. It as a common place for First Order officers to get off their rocks.

She was seventeen when Armitage found her. He was twenty-four.

Bits and pieces float around the archives. That he saw her a few times every cycle for a standard year. That eventually, he tried to buy her from her pimp, and the pimp refused him. The details up to that point are hazy. But for what came next, they were crystal clear-

In a rage, Armitage burned down the brothel. He killed her pimp, the madam, and a dozen bouncers on his own.

The FO made up some story about noncompliance and Resistance sympathizers to cover it up. The girls that were left Armitage found decent work for. A few went to convents. A few more left Canto and no one knew where they went. He married the girl, Rebecca - no surname - in a chapel on his ship. They were married five years and then it was over.

He looked so handsome, so _happy_ , in his Admiral's uniform inside all those news bytes.

He got a lotta smears for marrying her, too.

Rose remembers how unkindly Mama used to talk about the pleasure-girls on Canto. Who gave up a hard, dignified life for comfort and ease. The families of those girls on Hays had to disown them.

But looking at her holo, Rose doesn't see a girl who's been comfortable or happy a day in her life. Her dark, Otomokian eyes were so hauntingly sad.

Rose hates herself for calling her- _that_. And for hurting him.

She needs to call him. To ask for forgiveness.

She looks around the tiny room at the shattered splinters of her comm. _Well. Shit._

"Hey!" Kaydel's bright morning greeting scares the _shit_ out of her as the door to their room suddenly slides.

"Holy _stars_ Rose are you beating off _again_?" Kaydel gapes as Rose scrambles under her thin, scratchy covers with a screeched, "Um knock, much!"

"Are you crying?" typical Kaydel. The room reeks of puss and Rose is half naked and the bed is drenched and she just plops right down. _The Best Friend_ written in the furrow her brow. "You look like that Rey girl does after she ForceTimes with Mister Oh-so-Sith. Are you talking to a guy?"

Rose chuffs. "On like, a scale of one to ten of how much I am _not_ having this conversation with you right now, it's infinity-"

"Oooo, is that guy!" Kaydel brightens, then immediately pulls a broody, frowny face, "the mean one, who's like, _brah brah brah no Republics for you, Galaxy_. Ah snap, what's his name-“ she slaps the back of one hand into the other in frustration and growls at the ceiling, "Damnit, don't you hate that, when you just like, forget-"

Rose's stomach churns as she balks. "I am- so not- _sooo_ not- talking to- Armitage Hux that's like- that's treason-"

Kaydel snaps her fingers, " _Hux._ That's his fucking name. Dude you moan it in your sleep like, _con-stant-ly_. And he's totally into you. Have you seen your wanted poster? He like, was in charge of how they were designed or whatever. I look like a Wookie in mine. Like a bad police sketch. Your hair is way long and you're wearing lipstick. You have like, dick sucking eyes. It's fetch."

Rose blanches. "I have _what_ -"

"Yo so like," Kaydel hunkers down, excited, "is he gonna turn to our side? Because you're banging him so good? Literally- _the most romantic thing I've ever heard_. Ooo would you marry him? _Rose Hux_ sounds so clutch. You'd be like, _a Lady_. He's super royal. I think his dad was a baron or something."

Rose's chest clinches. She can't get out the words, they burn in her heart.

"Okay okay," Kaydel blazes on, authoritative now, "I'm your maid of honor, obvs. But who else would you pick?"

Rose bursts into tears.

"I- I-" it hurts too much to talk.

"Hey," suddenly, Kaydel is serious. Gathering Rose up around her shoulders and hugging her close.

She's the closest thing Rose's had to a sister since Paige. _Stars, Paige._

She would _hate_ Armitage.

Who does Rose think she is?

 _"A fish and a bird,"_ his words float back to her. She pictures herself with wings and him with scales and the two of them bobbing along dark blue waters.

She's so out of her depth.

"I was- re-really cunty to him- and-" she barks a whooping sob, "-and I th-think we just b-broke up-

"-such a fucking los-er," she buries her face in Kaydel's neck.

"Not even," Kaydel soothes, rocking them and rubbing her back. "Remember, when I was all, _Poe's the one and we're married already in the spirit realm_ and you were like, _But he's fully gay_ and I said, _No he's my husband_ and then I walked in on him kissing Finn in the empty messhall?”

Rose snorts wetly and pulls back smiling, despite herself. "I- um- I don't think Armitage is gay-"

" _Clearly_ ," says Kaydel. "My _point_ , homeslice, is that: if it's meant to be, it will be."

Rose twists her fingers in her lap. She's pretty sure a tough-talking, gun-slinging Resistance babe would never in a billion light years say what she's about to out loud but-

Rose is Rose.

"I'm pretty sure, if we're not meant to be, it'll kill my fucking heart."

"Your heart and the fucking Galaxy." Kaydel is half-glib, half-more serious than Rose has ever seen her about anything else. "That guy has no light in him to guide him. He's so lost, Rose. He _needs_ you. The Galaxy- is counting on your pussy.”

Rose barks a wet, startled laugh. "Kaydel, staahp. I hate you.”

"C'mon, lie down with me in _my_ bunk - stars it's like a _wat-er-fall_ down here," Kaydel stands and looks around in fake-disgust. "What is that guy _doing_ to you?"

Gathering her sloppy bedspread around her waist, Rose stands and groans. "I am literally so out of my league here."

"As if."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are delighted by this story, click the Kudos button and leave a comment down below!
> 
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	4. All mystery but a simple name,

_"Are you awake?"_

His comm blips at oh-three.

He answers it on the first faint bleep.

"I am."

Silence spans. Through it, his heart races. Across systems and asteroid fields and through black holes. A streaking comet.

To reach hers.

_"I'm so sor-"_

"I want to apologize-"

He swallows. His throat above his strict, starched collar stricts. "Please. Please, bear me out."

He crosses his salon and takes up his armchair which faces the stars. Patient. Murmuring. Calm. _How to begin?_ "I was- ungallant the last time we spoke-"

He has had many, many hours to gather his thoughts, to construct what he wants to say elegantly and concisely. Now, he finds that the words snare in his chest on barbed emotion and stumble out in a graceless parade. "You asked several questions which I had dreaded to answer since our courtship began-"

_"No, I shouldn't- I was totally wrong to broadside you-"_

" _Rose._ Please." He rubs his eyes. Smallest and ring finger - long abandoned by his wedding band - tick against the arm of the chair. "I am not a man known for his remorse. But I do, so _deeply_ regret that I drove you away. I- my personal convictions- as it regards the Galaxy- be they contrary or not- are in no way whatsoever a reflection of the love-" his throat chokes.

He swallows.

 _Tick tick,_ his fingers mock.

 _It's okay,_ nod the stars, shining sweetly on his face, _Take your time._

"-of the love for you in my heart,” he resumes. “I understand, if my... role, on this Galactic stage is... untenable, to you. If my history- if the reputation of the woman I loved before you- a decade before- is too painful for you, given your shared identity-"

_"No, Armitage, that's not- I never thought-"_

"-but I would ask, if you-" his mouth tremors slightly. _The great exaltation and humiliation of love._ This is, save watching the woman he loved before her climb into a shuttle and leave to never return, the most wrenching, vulnerable moment of his life. And considering his _colorful_ history, his flaying childhood, that is quite a feat.

"I am, on bended knee," he slips soundlessly off the armchair onto one knee. Ever the Arkanian monarchist. And she _is_ queen of his heart. He prays she hears it in his voice. " _Begging_ you, pleading with you, please- Rose- to see me as a man. Not a cog in a machine you loathe or an asset to turn, but as a _man_ , offering you his heart-"

On her end of the line, he hears a soft, mewling sound.

"I will not make promises to you I am not at liberty to keep, much as I may desire," the last clause is whispered. Clandestine. He is losing his religion. He is adrift. "Can you love me, in _this_ moment? Can you believe, in your deepest heart, I would _never_ -" his voice snares again, on the _violence_ , the purity of the swelling, consuming emotion. The burning red star in his heart. "-harm you, or allow harm to come to you? I have known the location of your base for weeks, Rose-"

Her small, croaked, _"-what?"_ wrings his heart.

"Since our third conversation. I decrypted your security cloak. I have known for weeks where you are." His eyes close. He pictures her there, in the dense forest. Collecting shells and organizing supplies. "For weeks, I have diverted our forces. _Not_ -" it is critical to him she _understands_ , "with the expectation that you should in any capacity _pay_ _me_ for my mercies-"

_"I didden m-mean that- I fucking swear it I- I was just m-mad and it came o-out-"_

"Why would you not think it of me?" his smile is rueful. Tender. "Given what I must be to you."

From her end, he hears several deep, shuddering breaths meant to calm.

 _"Okay,"_ she says, _"okay. Okay. First of all-"_

He braces for the guillotine. Heart always in the wrong place at the wrong time, with a woman who cannot understand-

 _"-all you are_ _to me, is the man I am so stupidly, insanely in love with,"_ her voice lilts at the end of so many of her declarations, as if she asking a question. It is one of the many, many ways she utterly charms. _"Like, second of all- who do you even think you are, Armitage Hux, making me fucking fall for you-"_

She is furious and she is weeping and she is smiling.

He hears it all with his heart.

 _"I am literally so over all of this - **shaak shit** ,"_ her voice cracks, _"Just come hold me, please. And don't hurt my friends-"_

He is up, surging up, up off the floor, striding in the direction of transport. Datapad, cap, and autocracies left behind.

 _Yes, yes go to her yes!_ praise the stars.

 _"I need you to hold me,"_ she's whispering. He pictures her cradling herself, knees to her chest hugged by her soft, beautiful arms.

It feels as if his personal transport has been primed with the coordinates for all his life. In actuality, it has been three weeks.

"I'm coming, girl," he promises her as the hatch hinges open smoothly and he bends to the hull. "Watch for me in the stars."

Rose races.

From her bunk to the fresher she shares with the rest of the girls and women on base. It's grubby, not like, _the cleanest_ , but it's empty thank the _stars_. Quick as a Haysian ice storm she uses a bit of polishing powder and her finger and scrubs her teeth. Her heart beats like a war drum - those beautiful, beautiful sounds she remembers hearing as a girl. They rang through the villages and shook the mountains. They boiled the frozen oceans and scared the stars. _We're coming for you,_ their beat told her people's enemies. _We're coming for you..._

Now he was coming for her.

Her hands shake, she swish-spits into the basin, watching the forth swirl away down into the darkness of the drain. Sheepishly, tentatively, holding her breath, she borrows just a thimblefull more of clean water and rubs it between her palms. She scrubs her face, her neck, picks at the dirt beneath her fingernails.

 _Wow, Rose. What a maneater,_ she thinks, frowning at her ratty paws.

There's no mirror in the bathroom, but Kaydel did hang a piece of shrapnel - a TIE's transmission panel - off the cinderblock wall with a spare rivet. Rose huffs on its black-mirror surface and shines it up with her wrist. The she squints.

Looking at her reflection, which is pretty much all tomboy realness and a chopshop haircut and tired eyes, it's really, really hard not to picture Armitage's gorgeous ex-wife. Or Rey of Jakku, with her tauntaun neck and ever-glowing skin and cool treble of buns. The _It-girl_ of the Galaxy.

Rose is just... Rose.

She braces her hands on the basin and looks deeper into her reflection.

 _He hasn't seen me since ever,_ she chews the inside of her lip. _What if I don't live up to the hype?_

It's super-easy to talk big when there's _star systems_ between them and only the sound of her voice. Which is already pretty childish and piping, no matter how hard she tries to sound flip and cool, like Kay. The excitement roiling inside her tummy at the thought of seeing him gets just a little sour at the edge.

What if he steps out of his sleek litecraft in all his glory and takes one look at her and is like, _"Um, hard pass"_?

 _But you've seen the poster,_ a defiant little voice inside her challenges that sour edge.

It's true, she did. On a smuggle-run to the Capitol. Just like, a glimpse, but she saw her wanted poster. It was huge, as big as his - she knows because whoever pasted it put it up next to a poster of the General himself. Turned slightly to one side, looking so super stern and hot. Staring down his nose at her imperiously over a slogan which said, _The First Order is Watching You_. And next to him was her.

She hadn't noticed her hair was longer. She just... thought she was looking at a picture of herself for a moment. And wondered, when had she ever in her whole _lifetime_ looked that confident or… _regal_? It made her think of her mother - whom she resembled exactly - in all her wedding holos on Hays. Dressed in reds and golds. A stunning, somber bride.

_DISSIDENT 1019: ROSE TICO_

Right next to the General himself. They looked like royalty together, and later, when she found his dream logs in the Alpha program, she thought...

 _Dude's fucking_ **_into_ ** _me._

"Okay, Rose," she blows out a shaky breath, excitement back on. She wishes not like, _so much._ Her teeth chatter a little when she gets this adrenaline-y and her hands shake and it's frustrating and weird but whatever. She's Rose Tico, Resistance hottie. Dissident Ten-Nineteen.

She can chatter her teeth if she wants.

After ten minutes of wrestling with her hair, she _finally_ gets it the way she likes. Messy-sexual, in a bun thingie with a big fan of floppy spikey tendrils at her crown and a bunch of cool, curling wisps around her face. Her blunt, straight-across bangs aren't _so_ crooked.

She knots her -shirt.

A knob at one side of the cute dip where her waist is which shows off her belly. It's smooth and pretty, plump and softly round. She rolls the waistband of her cargo pants down too, two folds. If she stands on her tiptoes and backs up, she can see the curve of her navel and her bellybutton winking back in the black mirror.

She's not gonna win _Miss Galaxy_ or anything, but she looks... cute. Like a badass Resistance girl. Ish.

_Kay prolly he landed a year ago and has colonized the planet by now Rose go go GO-_

She's so kriffing nervous, breathless as she slips out of the fresher and creeps, hair spikes dancing cutely above her and her cool front wisps bobbing around her face. The hall is blessedly empty - probably because no one is expecting a Resistance girl to like, sneak out and meet a _First Order general and_ _holy karking kriff I'm so dead if I get caught-_

 _Guess Rey of Jakku's not the only one with a complicated boyfriend,_ Rose thinks smugly as she presses the simple access panel which leads outside.

The planet they're on isn't a wasteworld, exactly. There's forests, beautiful ones, and valleys and fields and hills. An ocean even that's lavender-colored because of the algae. It's just that there's a mineral in the freshwater that's poisonous to drink but good for the plants. Their stupid ancient filtration system isn't strong enough to suck the impurities out. And the FO has cracked down hard on black market filter systems, medkits and rations. Smart motherfuckers.

Still, it's a beautiful world.

She scrambles through the light growth away from Base towards the open fields. Snicking through tall, thin trees by what little light this planet's single satellite moon throws off. It's full and distant, like an eye in the sky watching her sneak. Her hearts thrashing, tummy so nervous, breath catching with every soft-crackling step and her pulse pounding in her ears.

What if he doesn't come what if his craft crashes what if the Resistance catches them what if he hates her what if he loves her what if he wants to have sex-

The tree line thins. High above her, the long branches with many skinny offshoots reach for each other and thread together like sisters holding hands. Their leaves shaped like hearts cup the moonlight on their bellies and glow silver. Through their web, Rose sees a domed cathedral of shivering stars.

A comet streaks.

_No, not a comet-_

The drum in her heart beats faster and faster and faster. She can't breathe, really-

She breaks into a run.

The General's craft touches down lightly. On his descent he saw forests and oceans a deep shade of amethyst under night's arch, its waves glinting mercurial with moonlight lapping their foaming tongues at the soft white shores. He is certain their scanners have not detected him.

What he is not yet sure of is how he will find his love. The Base is well-cloaked, he has to resort to infra-scanners as he wheels down smoothly through the world’s calm troposphere and follows the frothy seam where land meets sea.

Almost immediately, he detects heat. A single figure racing towards the shore.

 _It's her,_ his chest tells him. The tightening, thrumming anticipation. _It's our girl._

Lightly, silently, his craft glides through the soft-giving slopes of the dunes as he lands.

His transpari-hatch disengages with a vaporous sigh. The air is sweet as he steps out onto the sand.

_"Armitage!"_

His name carries over fields and shore. Sweet, feminine calls which set him on fire. _"Armitage-"_

She is waving her arm above her like a beacon.

He sets his sights on her.

His boots, black and immaculate, sink into the soft, blue-hued sands as he takes off, running like a madman, heart beating _wildly_ , out of time with itself yet in perfect tune with the chant of the stars, _Yes yes go to her yes Armitage go!_ His long greatcoat banners like a black flag behind him, his sure, steadfast strides swallow the shore as it gives way gracefully to an open field. Her shape emerges from the silvered darkness, her beauty _bombards_ him-

As they close in on each other, he feels a crescendo in the war-beat of his heart.

Without hesitation, she leaps into his arms. "Armitage!"

He clutches her. Eyes shut, buried against her cheek and her gathered hair.

He revolves them beneath the soft-sighing stars.

She is sweet, solid _warmth_ in his arms.

"Sweet stars," it is a solid, breathless prayer as he clutches her, lets her sink down his body slowly and gathers her closer and close, holding on so fiercely, desperate to anchor himself least his heart take him higher and higher and he is _soaring_ within himself. _The glorious, glorious ache..._

She clings back just as fiercely as they rock.

"You're here," she is overcome with high-tremoring emotion. Over and over, she wraps her arms around his shoulders, as if she cannot hold him enough. Her hands cage his face, stroke his jaw. She burrows against his pounding heart. "I literally didn't think you'd come-"

He nuzzles deeply into her hair. Its strange tendrils tickle his cheeks. He cannot speak, he is overwhelmed with emotion. With _gratitude_ , for this. For her.

Weeping, _beaming_ , she draws his face down and down between her two hands.

Their first kiss.

It is a veritable firefight of lips and tongue. She volleys him, giving no quarter. Making up for her lack of experience with enthusiasm in the extreme. He cannot help it - laughter purrs from his chest as her soft, chapped little mouth presses quick, dewy kisses all over his lips, his nose, his jaw. Wet, tiny kitten licks in their center.

She bathes him in love.

Tenderly, his broad, black gloved hand cradles her head. He stills her sweetly, cups her cheek within his other palm and with mouths so close together he can taste her soft exhale, he tilts her just so.

When their lips find their match, sink together softly, sensual and slow, he loses all sense of time.

She is his every waking desire. He _is_ master of the Galaxy in her arms.

She mewls into their kiss.

His arm wends slowly behind her, pressing their bodies together as he bows deeper at the feet of love. He strokes her cheek, thumb the tocking metronome of the slow-thudding, vivid beat of his heart.

The stars wheel above.

Their lips peel apart with a soft, sensual sound.

A grain of light could not slip between them as he whispers, eyes still closed, "I love you. With every breath, Rose. I love you."

She lurches up and kisses him again. It is _violent_ , beautiful poetry. Her little tongue presses into his mouth. He gives her fire-for-fire, taking her swiftly, fiercely. Filling her with the sleek-flexing muscle of his tongue. Showing her the first few droplets of the pleasure he will _drench_ her in. Forever

He is never letting her go.

**Author's Note:**

> If you are delighted by this story, click the Kudos button and leave a comment down below!
> 
> [Subscribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelWonder/profile) and never miss an update.
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> And for my original works, click [here](https://www.amazon.com/Roy-Ramsey/e/B087PMV2H6?ref_=dbs_p_ebk_r00_abau_000000).


End file.
